I usually give a place three chances to keep my business. There is a Butcher/Deli on the corner of Court and Muscatine that I drive by everyday. One day I see a sign "Today's Special - Rubens". You Bastards! I'm in. Not that day, but soon.
I stop in a couple of week's later when I have money burning a hole in my pocket and a rubble in the belly. I order one Ruben to go. At home, I chow down. The Ruben wasn't bad, not great, but not bad. That's one.
Round two, I am told they are out of rye bread, but they can use white bread. (Well, it's not a Ruben is it. It's a pile of sadness.) The time is about 1:15 PM. I can't imagine a Deli running out of sandwich bread that soon. One Ball, One Strike.
Round Three. Couple of weeks later, 5:15 PM Friday, I have a dream of a Ruben and a couple of cold ones for a Friday Dinner Pinic. Perfect! Nope! "We close the grill down and stop making sandwiches at Five." One Ball, Two Strike. To be fair they are a butcher shop and the Deli thing is a side hustle, so I kind of get it. However, it's like going to Mickey D's and finding out they are out of shake mix.
Round Four. OK the stars align for another try, They have Rye Bread, the grill is open, and there is plenty of meat behind the Counter. I order two Rubens. Fuck my heart! I get the last of the meat they have for the day. Back at home, the first sandwich goes down the gullet. It's ok, need some more Thousand Islands, and I want some fries. The bread seems a little dry. Ball! Second Ruben is a failure pile. Each bite is a fatty mess. Looks like I really got the dregs of the cuts. Strike Three.
I give you all the chances, and I guess you don't want my business.
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